


After midnight

by captainofthegreenpeas



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Affection, Book/Movie 2: Catching Fire, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Intrigue, Romance, Scheming, Secret Relationship, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 18:17:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13840323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainofthegreenpeas/pseuds/captainofthegreenpeas
Summary: After the Victory Tour, Plutarch comes home to his lover.





	After midnight

The clock on the mantelpiece chimed two before the plates were cleared and Plutarch Heavensbee took his leave of the president, confidently and respectfully.

 

Two Avoxes stepped forward: one holding his overcoat, the other a bowl of mints. He took two: one for later and one for Fulvia Cardew- his advisor, companion and co-conspirator.

 

She liked mints.

 

The grandfather clock downstairs was several minutes slow and did not chime until after Plutarch had passed it. He did not like inaccurate clocks, but he did like the chimes.

As a boy he used to stop what he was doing to come see their cuckoo clock come alive at the stroke of the hour. When he was eleven, his father took him to District One to meet a watchmaker who showed him how a watch was made, how it worked and how it was repaired if it did not. That had been the happiest day of his life.

 

  
When he left the City Circle, the dregs of the party’s guests had slipped away, save a few clotheads who had commandeered a grand piano in the presidential mansion and were hammering out drinking songs. Plutarch wondered how many they would finish before they faced the wrath of Panem’s glacial First Lady. He estimated five.

 

  
The city at night was a sprawling hive of glow worms. Had it been summer, the streets would still be humming with people even at this hour, but winter meant hot chocolate and closed windows to his fellow citizens, so Plutarch was mostly alone in his walk. As he left the hub of the inner city, the windows became darker, shrouded with curtains or slashed with blinds.

  
At Underpass 43 he crossed paths with Avoxes who paid him no mind. At Junction 14 a streetwalker leaned against a lamppost, at Junction 16 a group were chattering around a brazier . They stared at him as if wondering if he was who he was- he kept on walking. After that, the city was flat dunes of silent stone desert, life waiting to wake. 

 

  
As Plutarch walked down her street, Fulvia unlocked her front door and peered out, spotting him almost instantly. Not content with waiting on the threshold she scurried to his side to accompany him on the last stretch of sidewalk.

  
“A success,” Plutarch assured her by way of greeting.

  
“You managed to meet her?”

  
“Effie Trinket arranged an introduction.”

  
“What’s she like?”

  
He stopped for a moment to think of words sufficient to sum up his first conversation with Katniss Everdeen.

  
“Well, she’d rather dance in red-hot shoes than with me. I was expecting that. No doubt she’s been waiting desperately to go home, so her distaste was as much at the party as at me. She’s quite shrewd too, but I might have been a little too cryptic… still, she didn’t try to knock me into the punch bowl, so I’d say our professional relationship has definitely improved.”

 

  
They had reached the door by now. Fulvia grinned at him. Her hair still damp from washing, her face unpainted, she looked like she had never seen the City Circle, even with the flowers carved on her face. The sheepskin lining of her grey cardigan made the satin and velvet of the party seem gaudy and cold.

  
“I’d say it has. Did she remember-”

  
“Yes.”

  
He closed the door behind them and she brought him a hanger for his overcoat.

  
“How was the food?”

  
“The usual,” he remarked bitterly. “Too good for most of the throats it was stuffed down.”

  
“Or puked back up,” she reminded him in her helpful way.

  
“Indeed.” The thought of ipecac made him shrivel with disgust. It always had. “You’re such a buzzkill,” they used to tease him when he refused. “A little fun never killed anyone, you know.”

  
“Still no mention of Arria,” Fulvia turned away sadly. “I’ve assumed the worst.”

 

Fulvia had never thought highly of Seneca Crane, but his wife had been so charming that Fulvia couldn’t help but like her. Now she too had vanished from Fulvia’s life. She felt more alone than ever.

  
“The worst is almost certain.”

  
“I shouldn’t have hoped for so long… but I thought that maybe-” she shook her head. “Take a seat.”

  
Plutarch began to recount his meeting with the president in such vivid detail that Fulvia felt almost as if she was watching it all take place on a big screen. Somehow during the course of his account she had managed to migrate from her chair to his knee.

  
“What if in trying to be wrong, you’re actually right? Are you sure brutalising the districts won’t end up just stamping out the sparks?”

  
“Brutalising the districts is what started this whole mess in the first place." 

 

He could see the wheels turning in her mind. Whether she was smiling or scowling, she was pretty. But it was when she was deep in thought that she was beautiful.

 

"Are you sure he’s telling you everything? He could be making plans or seeking alternative advice somewhere else.”

 _And if he has been given proper advice_ , she added in her head, _something conveniently unfortunate may have to happen to the giver…_

  
“He could. But he isn’t. It has taken me a long time, but we are now quite cosy.”

  
“I’m sure you are. Is he as you expected him to be? Is he… malleable, enough?”

  
“He scrutinises heavily. But I know better than to leave gaps unchecked.”

  
Manipulating Seneca Crane had been as easy as pushing a button. Manipulating his superiors, however… another matter. Fulvia leaned forward and kissed him on the nose.

  
“I trust you to keep him on his strings.”


End file.
